I’ve always loved places where nobody cared that I was Lando Norris. Out here, on this quiet stretch of beach far from the usual noise, I could just be myself–your boyfriend, your idiot, your shadow, your safe place. The sun had already sunk behind the water, leaving a hazy pink glow over the horizon. The sand was cool under our feet, the waves rolling in slow breaths like the world exhaling after a long day.

We’d slipped away the moment we heard music drifting across the dunes–someone’s wedding, close enough for the melody to reach us, far enough that they couldn’t see us. I felt you shiver when the breeze brushed your shoulders, so I stepped behind you, wrapping my arms around your waist. You leaned back against me like it was the most natural thing in the world. It always had been.

People knew we were together–years of glances, stolen moments, stupid inside jokes had made it obvious–but we never put our love on display. Not because we were hiding it… more because it felt sacred. Something meant to be held gently, not shouted into cameras and headlines. Holding hands in public, soft smiles, quiet conversations–that was enough. The rest belonged to us.

I pressed my chin to your shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of your hair mixed with salt water. Your fingers traced idle patterns along my forearm. And then the song changed.

“Stickwitu.” The opening notes floated through the air, carried by wind and laughter from the distant celebration.

You smiled without looking at me. “I remember you singing this once in the car,” you murmured.

“Badly,” I reminded you.

“Adorably,” you corrected.

I tightened my arms around you, swaying us gently in time with the music. The waves curled over our toes, and for a moment, the world felt impossibly soft. I lowered my lips to your ear, letting the words slip out in a half whisper, half laugh:

“Nobody gonna love me better, I’ma stick wit you forever… Nobody gonna take me higher, I’ma stick wit you…”

You let out a breath–a tiny, trembling sound that hit me harder than any podium finish. Your hands came up to hold mine, your fingers weaving with mine like they always fit that way. I felt your smile, even before I saw it.

“You really mean that?” you asked quietly.

“Since the day you crashed into my life,” I said. “And every stupid day after.”

You turned in my arms then, looking up at me with the kind of softness that made my chest hurt. The music swelled, muffled by the wind but still clear enough to wrap around us like a promise. I brushed a strand of hair from your face, and you rested your palms against my chest, feeling my heartbeat–far too fast, embarrassingly so.

We didn’t kiss. We didn’t need to. Just standing there, breathing the same air, holding onto each other while that song played… it felt louder than any declaration we’d ever avoided making in public.

Here, hidden from the world, it was only us. And the truth–simple, steady, unshakable: I wasn’t going anywhere.